Dear Brittany,
Do you remember that when we were little we used to have sleepovers all the time? We would lie in our beds, staring at the ceiling and talk about the boys in our school. Eventually one of us would say they were cold, which often resulted in us squeezing in one sleeping bag together, to keep each other warm.
The past few days, that image of us curled up next to each other has been the first thing to come to my mind when I heard your name or when I woke up. Alone, of course, because you are nowhere near me. You don't even know where I am. It doesn't matter anyway, since I broke up with you.
That is one of the many regrets I have, by the way. If I knew what was going to happen I would've never done that. I would've wanted to keep you close to me as much as possible. So that we could have enjoyed the past few weeks, instead of cry and feel sorry for ourselves.
I know about what happened with Sam, Britt. Or what might still be happening. I don't know everything, since Blaine fills in Kurt about the most important things in Lima and Kurt told Rachel, who told Quinn, who told me. They refused to explain any more details, but that's fine. I don't want to know them anyway.
You might want to know why I am writing you this letter. Or maybe you figured it out already. You're smart like that, and you have a perfect memory when it comes to us.
Some time ago, Quinn and I decided to go and visit Rachel in New York. We've always had this kind of friendship going on, which you know all about of course. You were in the middle of it all.
Well, we figured that she might have missed us, especially since she and Quinn hadn't seen each other since graduation. So we booked airplane tickets and got on our flights the week after.
It turned out that my plane had some trouble landing. Instead of landing on the airstrip we crash into some grassy field. The whole plane crumbled into something way too small to hold all travelers.
So this is what happened: I got stuck between two seats, which broke my back. I guess I know now how Quinn and Artie must have felt like. But that is not the worst. I could have lived with that.
They told me that during surgery my organs started to shut down. They can't fix me, Britt. I'm a lost cause.
I know you don't want to hear about it all, but I feel like you should know. I feel obliged to tell you all the gross details, because for once, I want to you know exactly what I'm thinking.
You are all I can think about. Especially now I wish that I could see your face, and hear your voice. I want to touch you, I want your arms around me. I want to be with you one last time. But I can't, and that hurts me more than the whole plane crash altogether.
If I'm being completely honest though, it is like you're here with me all the time. Not your body, but your voice or just your face. I know it's not real, because it's always vague and distant. They keep me high on drugs to numb the pain, so it's probably all in my head. Quinn doesn't think you're here either, and I know that I can trust her. That's why I'm handing her this letter. She will know what to do with it when I'm gone. Which means that when you read this...
Rachel is here too. She can't stop crying. I never thought she would care so much about me. Maybe she was a good friend after all.
I'm so proud of you, Britt. After you graduate you will make such a great dancer, or whatever you're going to be. You'll be great at it. I know it. I have always known it, since I first laid eyes on you.
I'm sorry I can't be there to see you walk down the stage on your graduation day. I'm sorry I won't be there to see you walk down the aisle to marry the luckiest man – or woman – alive.
Just know that I will always watch over you. That's a promise.
While I was still clear – before they put me on painkilling medication – I signed a paper that said that if I couldn't live on my own, without life-supporting machines, they will have to turn them off. I don't want to live like an unconscious potato, keeping this hospital bed occupied while there are others who still have a chance. Others whose chance I'm taking away by having some machine breathe for me.
I'm tired, Britt. They're going to have to let me go. You will have to let me go.
I love you, Brittany. I love you so much. I always have, and I always will. I love you.
Goodbye,
Santana